


Peculiarity Parade

by misha_collins_butt



Series: Destiel [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: A day at the thrift store turns into something more because Dean is a stubborn old man and Cas is a rebelAKA just some silly, old school smut.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Dean/Cas, Destiel
Series: Destiel [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643035
Kudos: 31





	Peculiarity Parade

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuuhhh so I sorta disappeared for a while there, huh? I meant to post like once a month but...I kind of got a job or two and now I don't have as much time for writing as I did when I was just sitting at home doing nothing so there's that. But here we go. Enjoy, ya walnuts.

It's two in the afternoon on a Thursday when Dean drags Castiel out of the bunker to a thrift store. The entire ride there is quiet; not that Castiel minds, but usually Dean is more...chatty.

Now he's silently trailing Dean through aisles upon aisles of second-hand apparel, back slouched and boredom set in his face. Clothes shopping is not exactly what he had in mind when Dean told him last night that Cas was gonna need some new digs now that he's human. He'd thought Dean had meant, like...hygiene products and manuals for basic human shit.

Shit. That's a fun word. He's been swearing a lot more since having his grace stolen. It feels good, the release of swearing. Even if Sam gives him alarmed looks and Dean raises a brow at it. They can't stop him. He loves swearing.

Wanna know what he very much  _ doesn't _ love? This shit.

"Dean, is this really necessary?" Castiel mutters, his voice positively dripping with his inscrutable lack of interest in literally everything happening right now.

"Listen, buddy," Dean responds, checking the price tag on something and not looking back at the angel. "Much as I don't mind you stealin' a few of my tees, it's about time for you to get your own stuff. Y'know, settle in? Decorate your room a bit? Maybe even pretend to act like you're staying a while?"

The bunker is his physical home now, and despite his gratitude to the boys, he's wary of letting himself get attached. The last several times he's allowed himself the luxury, he's paid for it, and paid hard. Losing Heaven was his final straw. Even Dean and Sam feel so temporary right now, his own betrayal too fresh in his mind to forgive himself yet.

He's exhausted from...well, everything, and walking around this dreadful store is only tiring him further, even if the only interaction he's had is with Dean, so he flatly asks, "Are we done yet?"

When Dean angles his body to examine a sweater, Castiel's eyes balloon at the sight of the absolute  _ mountain _ of clothing hanging from Dean's arm. He hadn't notice the pile growing until now, and it seems all the more ridiculous. What is Dean doing? Trying to buy him a whole wardrobe?

"Nnnnope," Dean hums lightly as he tests the texture of the beachy blue cableknit sweater between his fingers. He drops the sleeve and removes it from the hanger, laying it on top of what must be an incredibly heavy collection of clothing, then spins around and offers it all up to Castiel with stern eyes. "Try it on. Come on, we'll go to the dressing rooms."

It takes approximately fifteen minutes for Castiel to work his way through the mound of clothing, mostly just surveying how it looks in the mirror on his own, but sometimes slithering out of the dressing room to present himself to Dean, who reacts with warm smiles and approving nods. And then he gets to the bottom, and tilts his head in confusion. He's not sure why Dean would pick something like this for him. Maybe Dean had thought it was just a plain black tee. But, Castiel discovers, it's not, as he holds it up in front him with curiosity.

There's an old-looking graphic design on the front where big letters read 'Backstreet Boys', which Castiel can't even begin to guess at what that is. But the overall look, he likes. It feels simple and relatable, and it's evidently been worn well by other humans, a thought that makes Castiel warm inside. Like maybe he doesn't have to feel so out of place.

He pulls it on and steps out of the dressing room to show Dean, thinking the hunter will likely just be a bit baffled and not remember putting it in the pile. 

But Dean's reaction now is far from. He bursts out laughing, entire body jostling with the force of it, and starts swiping at his eyes after a couple moments of near silent wheezing. Castiel is bemused, to say the least. Without needing to voice that, Dean looks up at him and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, I can't take you seriously in that," a delayed chuckle rumbles Dean's chest and he tries to cover it with a cough. "I just wanted to see, you can take it off now."

Now, Castiel isn't necessarily pissed, per se, that Dean tried to prank him like this. He's just...annoyed. So, for it, he decides Dean could use a dose of his own medicine.

Instead of changing back into his (Dean's) shirt, he leaves the Backstreet Boys one on, and when he exits the room with a smug smile and an entire closet of clothes, Dean's smirk immediately falls. Castiel feels pride welling up in his chest, not even caring that the people around him are snickering. He still doesn't understand why, but he's fine with not knowing if it means he gets to see Dean this irked about it.

As Dean follows him through the store toward the registers, the hunter tries desperately (and fails) to be the voice of reason, Castiel happily ignoring him the whole way - Castiel is petty, and he will  _ be _ petty whenever he damn well pleases. He tells the cashier he'll be wearing the shirt out of the store and, though she shoots him a concerned look, she takes the paper tag that Castiel hands her and rings it up.

They leave the store with a lordly stride in Castiel's step and a delicate pink bloom across Dean's cheeks as he stifles his irritation.

++++

Dean watches Cas from the corner of his eye the whole way home, not even processing the classic rock pouring from his speakers anymore.

He doesn't know why he got so embarrassed at Cas's (very angelic) misunderstanding of human social queues. Deep down, he entertains the thought that maybe he wants people to see them and think 'boyfriends' and Cas pulling something like this was not a great image booster. Not that those people would ever see either of them again, but it's the principle of the thing.

Sam is missing from the library when they get back, and Dean checks his cell to find a text about him going off somewhere with Charlie and humanised Gabriel, and that they wouldn't be back for some time, and  _ please don't make a frozen pizza again if you're not gonna eat all of it, Dean. _

Plastic bags rustle as they're tossed onto the table and Cas comes moping after them. Still wearing that stupid shirt.

Dean rolls his eyes and makes the executive decision to Definitely Not Deal With This right now. He snatches up the half-drank bottle of water from one of the tables and heads to the kitchen, on a mission for something that can pass as dinner.

Hours later, after he's cleared the plates and set down two more beers in front of each of them, Cas is still in that damn shirt, and Dean is thisclose to exploding from mortification. It's one thing if Cas actually likes the band - as much as Dean thinks it's in poor taste, Cas is allowed to listen to whoever he wants, and it's not like he has the social experience to understand why other people think it's silly or off-putting. But the shirt is another thing. It needs to go.

"Will ya take that thing off, already?" Dean grumbles, hoping a detached tone will make it seem less hostile.

He watches Cas look up from the show he'd been watching on the iPad that Sam gave him for his 'unofficial human birthday', and the look in Cas's eyes is categorically scorching.

Dark notes ring in Cas's pressed-gravel voice when he replies, "The only way this shirt is coming off, Dean...is if you remove it yourself."

_ What. The. Fuck. _

_ WHAT THE FUCK! _

Dean takes a trembling breath in, lips popping open with unbridled astonishment. He gulps around the lump in his throat, eyes flitting down over Cas's lax body and then back up to his challenging face.

In a floating pitch, Dean says simply, "Okay."

Then he's setting down his beer and moving towards Cas with no plan, no idea what he's even doing, like he's being ushered along by an invisible cloud of irreconcilable honesty. Mindlessly, Dean climbs into the recliner Cas is sitting in, holding the ex-angels gaze as he fits his legs between Cas's hips and the plush armrests. When he finally does look down, it's to watch his fingers fiddle with the pliant hem of the absurd t-shirt. He hesitates, he knows, and Cas notices, evident from the way his brows furrow over his expanding pupils. But then he inhales sharply and gingerly lifts the fabric away from Cas's torso.

Cas automatically lifts his arms and Dean eases the shirt over his head and off Cas's body. He drops it over the side of the recliner and when their respective arms come to rest, Dean's hands land on Cas's bare chest, and Cas's land on Dean's hips, seemingly on instinct. They search each other's eyes for a long moment, breathing harshly as though they've been sprinting for miles and not just tangling themselves together on a chair in the bowels of the empty bunker.

Now what?

"Dean," Cas husks out, fingers tightening on Dean's hips faintly.

"Yeah?" his voice crackles with electricity, his power lines buzzing and sizzling beneath his heated skin.

"I don't think I like your shirt, either," Cas mumbles, sounding a bit breathless, the implication clear.

Dean stifles the grin that threatens to break across his face and shifts his arms upward at the same time that Cas carefully works the burgundy henley over his head. He tosses it away, uncharacteristically careless, and his palms glide smoothly down Dean's sides, raising goosebumps in their wake. Dean plants one hand on the side of Cas's neck so his thumb digs into the bump of Cas's collarbone, and his other hand comes up to Cas's chin, other thumb tracing along the outline of Cas's champagne lips.

"Anything else?" Dean hums distractedly, not finishing the question but stuffing every ounce of hidden meaning into it that he can.

"Yes," Cas breathes, the word reaching out and coiling itself around Dean's thumb, and then Cas's fingers are playing at the waistband of Dean's jeans and the angel-turned-human says, "These."

Dean nods and allows him to undo the button and zipper, then lifts himself up to awkwardly clamber out of them. When he's donning only his form-fitting boxers, he gets bolder, situates himself tighter against Cas, rakes his hands through Cas's ruffian hair, and starts rocking himself on his hips' axis, just barely, unnoticeable to any outside viewer.

"Now?" Dean inquires in a blushing brush of lips at Cas's ear, hoping, praying that Cas still wants more, wants to take this further.

Apparently, someone is still listening, because Cas roughly yanks Dean flush against his body, hands clutching Dean's hips, and practically growls, "This, too."

Dean can do nothing more than gasp and pant for a second as Cas guides his hips to grind down in little circles. 

"Okay," Dean nods again, voice stolen by desire, and with his forehead pressed to Cas's, he fumbles with the tie of the other man's sweat pants and shoves them down so they're pooled at Cas's spread knees. A rush of pleasure floods low in his gut when he sees Cas has gone commando, probably had no choice with having to borrow Dean's clothes. "Fuck," Dean grits, clamping his hand around Cas's wrist and guiding it to his bulge, where it seems to naturally palm Dean through the cotton of his briefs. There's no more hesitation, no room between them for trepidatious floundering. They're sharing oxygen, panting against each other's lips, still not daring to lock them together. "Cas," Dean chokes, and hooks his thumb under the waistband of his own boxers and jams them down below his tightened sac.

Cas's hand instantly finds his cock and starts stroking, and the ex-angel's presence becomes a force of control as he starts growling commands and praise, "So damn hot, Dean, so beautiful for me. Wanna make you come. Gonna come for me? Gonna let me make you? Fuck, I bet you take cock so well, look so pretty with your lips around it, in your ass, shit--"

"Cas," Dean sobs, already nearing his precipice, riding high on Cas's words alone.

"What is it, Dean? Tell me what you want," Cas' voice is stony silver, sharp as scalpels, demanding authority, and Dean had no idea how much of a sucker he is for that until now.

"Wanna taste you," Dean babbles, bucking into Cas's fist, so close to tipping that the muscles of his lower stomach are clenching around his insides. "Please, please--fuck! Wanna--oh, God," he lurches forward, slouching until his forehead is instead resting on Cas's shoulder, and he's coming hard, shiny white threads shooting across Cas's chest and dribbling down onto his hand and wrist as he continues jerking Dean through it. When the stimulation becomes too much, just this side of painful, Dean gasps, "Please."

Slowly, as if not to spook a horse, Cas releases his grip and trails his cum-slick hand up Dean's belly, his chest, to his shoulder, where he gives a bit of a push, encouragement for Dean to do what he's begging to do. Dean goes quickly and without pause, craving the exhileration of wrapping Cas's cock in his tongue. Cas's hands are gentle and supportive, unsoiled one petting Dean's cheek like he's admiring a prized possession, and fuck, that's exactly what Dean is, exactly what he wants to be to this perpetually heavenly creature, to this man who will never lose the divine brilliance of his home despite losing his grace. And Dean would be anything for him. Especially when he's guiding Dean's face closer, so ginger and sweet and, though he obviously knows that Dean wants this, he allows Dean the opportunity to pull away, to change his mind and turn his back on this, whatever it is. Dean knows without it being said that he could leave right now and they would both force themselves to forget all of this and go back to normal, to waltzing this intricate dance around each other and forging their secrets in the corners of their head, never to be spoken into existence.

But Dean doesn't do that. He leans his cheek into Cas's warm hand and trembling fingers, and he slides himself forward and nuzzles into the base of Cas's thick member, just taking in his scent. Somehow, he still smells like the stratosphere, still smells like the calm wreckage after a storm, and like the birds that soar above the sea. He smells like something ethereal, that only an angel could touch; the intangible universe at his fingertips, to use the crushing feeling of rage as his cologne and the desirable ache of love as his soap.

Tentatively, Dean darts his tongue out and swipes it over the underside of Cas's shaft once, then again, acclimating himself to the heady taste, until he's drawing his tongue up the ridge to the crown where he laps at the steady stream of pre-come drooling from the slit. Cas doesn't taste how he smells - he tastes closer, more familiar, more...human. Tastes how he lives now, with wonder and coffee and second-hand clothes. It's radiantly seductive, tugs at the edges of Dean's heart in a way he can't describe, and he wants more of it, all of it.

With Cas panting above him, head hung back against the top of the recliner, Dean lays wet kisses along each side and under the tip before fitting his mouth over it and taking half of Cas's length onto his tongue. He's only sucked a dick once before, and he was absolutely plastered, so he doesn't remember much, but he does know to keep his teeth wide open and his lips firmly circled. The rest he figures out on his own. Quick learner like that, especially with Cas spewing praise and gentle instruction overhead.

"It's okay, just relax your throat, breathe through your nose--fuck! Ye-ah, jus-t like tha-at," his words break open like a glowstick, illuminating Dean's trajectory and the fingers caressing his chin, sneaking lower to feel at his neck where he tries his best to nestle the tangy head. "Shit, Dean, so perfect, so pretty. Wanna come in your mouth. Fuck, gonna let me do that? Gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?" 

And, God, Dean hasn't even kissed him yet but the dirty talk is driving him mad and the weight of Cas's cock on his tongue is so mind-numbingly alluring, that he just hums out his approval and nods as much as he can with a dick impaling face.

"So good for me, Dean. So beautiful," and Dean is sucking in earnest now, mesmerised by his partner's dusk-and-grime encouragement. "Yeah, keep going, just like that, baby, take it so good--ah, fuck...so close, Dean, don't stop."

Dean gives a few last, suctioned bobs of his head and Cas spilling down his esophagus with his fingers weaving into Dean's hair and his mouth hanging open in a merciless moan.

When eventually Cas is breathing heavy and melting into the cushions of the chair, Dean pulls off and crawls his way back up the other man's body until he's hovering over Cas's face. The ex-angel's eyes lazily blink open and meet Dean's, and a smile writes itself through the lines of Cas's lips.

A hand cupped around the back of Dean's neck tows him downward and finally,  _ finally _ , their mouths slot together, moving in tandem in docile waves as Cas licks the taste of himself from Dean's teeth. Time seems to crumble away around them; it could last seconds or it could last years and Dean would be none the wiser, and no worse for wear when he comes up for air and to lean his forehead into Cas's once more. 

"Damn," Dean murmurs, emerging from the haze.

"Hmm?" Cas questions as his hands ghost up and down Dean's back.

Opening his eyes and beaming down at his new human, Dean chuckles, "Guess I gotta take you shopping more often."

Cas snorts and grins, and pulls him down into a hug.


End file.
